


we're on top of the world now, darling, so don't let go

by angejolras



Series: prompts [13]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cosette And Enjolras Are Siblings, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Moving In Together, and pointless, i just wanted an excuse to write some super gross pointless domesticity, this is gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 12:56:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15930872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angejolras/pseuds/angejolras
Summary: “We’ll make it work,” Enjolras assures her, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes. “We can be adults.”When Éponine bites her lip and gives him an exaggeratedly sceptical look through widened brown eyes, he amends, “At least, I can. I don’t know about you.”Éponine snorts. “It’s nice to know you have so much faith in me, babe.”“Éponine, I found a half-eaten Snickers in your laundry basket the other day. I can’t say much about you.”“Oh, so that’s where it went! I knew it must’ve gone somewhere.”(or, Éponine and Enjolras get a place together.)





	we're on top of the world now, darling, so don't let go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_Mad_Majesty_of_Muchness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Mad_Majesty_of_Muchness/gifts).



> **written for the prompt "you owe me a kiss."**
> 
> let's play "catch the b99 reference (that isn't already glaringly obvious)"!! on your mark, get set, ruffalo! (also there's a little p&p 2005 reference somewhere there, let's see if y'all catch it ;))

“Where the _hell_ is ’Ponine?”

To absolutely nobody’s surprise, Éponine is nowhere to be found on move-in day. Enjolras can’t imagine why he ever thought otherwise as he lugs the last of the boxes into the apartment, the dull brown cardboard sitting around the living room, waiting to be unpacked.

He finally gets time to catch his breath, looking around at the boxes stacked all around the room with his arms akimbo. He’s had to lug all of the boxes up eight flights of stairs, because conveniently enough, the elevator broke down a mere two days ago, just two days before they were scheduled to arrive. Praise the Lord, thanks _so_ much.

Combeferre’s been a massive help, helping Enjolras with hauling the seemingly countless boxes up the stairs because he’s an _amazing_ friend and Enjolras’ platonic other half and _Good God, Enjolras, what the hell are even in all these boxes? Did you really have to take all these old photo albums with you?_ The blond decides to ignore that last bit, because if this all somehow goes horribly, horribly wrong, he’ll probably need someone to help him tow all his stuff back to his old place.

“Do you think she flaked out on me at the last minute?” Enjolras questions, anxiously biting his lip as he does his best to keep himself from fidgeting in place, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. He’s finally managed to steal it back from Éponine; it still smells like her rose-scented shampoo.

“She wouldn’t do that,” Combeferre reassures him, reaching out to put an arm around Enjolras’ shoulders and pat his back sympathetically. “I don’t see why she’d have any reason to, she loves you.”

A hint of a tiny smile makes its way onto Enjolras’ lips at the little reminder. Éponine loves him.

His arm snakes around Combeferre’s waist as the two of them stand there looking around at the room. Enjolras is satisfied with what he sees—he and Éponine have secured room 812, with a balcony overlooking the Paris streets and a spectacular view of the city. The hardwood floors—just like Éponine wanted—are freshly waxed, and Enjolras doesn’t doubt that she’ll coax him into doing sock slides around the living room with her later that day. He’ll have lost his ability to say no to that by then. He thinks he already has.

The walls are in pleasant shades of pale green and creamy white, painted gold by the morning sunlight bathing the apartment that streams in through the windows and glass doors leading out onto the balcony. The entire place is comfortably airy; when Enjolras lets go of Combeferre and wanders into the dining room, he finds his sister there, rearranging framed photographs on the coffee table and making sure the furniture’s in place.

“Hey,” he says, just to make his presence acknowledged, and she turns around, blue eyes lighting up in delight at the sight of him.

“Gabriel!” Cosette bounds towards him to tackle him in a hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him as she squeals in his ear. Enjolras returns the hug as best as he can, his limbs nearly completely locked at his sides from the position Cosette’s caught him in, and after some time, she finally lets go, beaming up at her brother.

“Thank you so much for helping us out,” he tells her in a low voice. “You really didn’t have to, you know.”

Cosette’s eyes are sparkling as she lets out a silvery laugh, tossing some blonde hair over her shoulder. “Oh, it’s no big deal; I wanted to.”

Panic fills Enjolras for a split second when Cosette’s wide blue doe eyes grow glassy before she blinks the tears away as she embraces him again, biting her lip and smiling once she pulls back. “I’m just—I’m so happy for you two!” she exclaims, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet as she bounces her way back into the living room, Enjolras close behind. The diamonds of his sister’s engagement ring and wedding band glitter in the sunlight filling the room, and she rambles on, “I mean—you two—my God, you’ve been planning this for so long, and now you’re both in grad school and you’ve got stable jobs, and oh, my God, it’s _happening_. It’s finally happening, and I’m so happy, you make Eppy so happy, she’s so happy—”

“Doesn’t seem like that’s the case right now,” Enjolras mumbles in interruption, shoving his hands further down the front pocket of his hoodie. He steals a quick glance at the closed door; Éponine’s still nowhere to be seen. Her absence is deafening.

“Oh, believe me, Gabriel, she’s so happy,” Cosette assures him. Enjolras didn’t think her smile can get any bigger, but it does, nearly splitting her face in half as she goes on, “You two are _together_ and in _love_ and you make each other so happy, and I never thought I’d ever see my big brother this happy, and this place is going to make you both _so_ happy!”

Combeferre chuckles at Cosette’s overuse of the word ‘happy’, shaking his head as he smiles fondly at the siblings. He walks over to sit down on the couch, groaning and stretching out his back. “Good Lord, I won’t be able to walk for a month after this,” he mutters, rubbing his back. Looking around, he asks, “Has anyone seen Courfeyrac?”

Enjolras snorts. “How convenient,” he remarks dryly. “My girlfriend and your boyfriend are both missing. We really should just file a missing person’s report.”

“No need to be so dramatic, Enjy, darling, that’s my job!”

As if on cue, the door is thrown open and Courfeyrac saunters into the apartment, donning the ugliest fedora Enjolras has ever seen, soon followed by Grantaire and then Éponine herself, the latter with a pair of mirrored blue aviator sunglasses perched upon the bridge of her nose, and a smile lights up her entire face when she seems to spot Enjolras—he can’t quite tell, with how her eyes are hidden behind the reflective lenses of her sunglasses.

She’s clutching a brown paper bag from McDonald’s in one hand, a Starbucks cup in the other, and she flashes Enjolras a dimpled grin as she darts up to him. “What’d I miss?” she asks, uncharacteristically cheerful for nine in the morning. Enjolras eyes the Starbucks cup in her left hand, figuring she must’ve had her morning coffee already. That, and the fact that it’s move-in day for them must be what’s putting her in such a good mood.

“Well, ’Ferre and I had to haul all those boxes up eight fucking flights of stairs,” Enjolras replies, giving her a sour look. Éponine merely pushes her sunglasses up onto her forehead, pushing her hair back from her face, and laughs out loud.

“The highlight of your day, I’m sure,” she says wryly, grinning at him.

Enjolras sighs something long-suffering. “God, you’re going to be a disaster at our wedding. I’ll be standing up there with the officiant looking like a moron and you’ll show up two hours late, saying something along the lines of, ‘Oh, is something going on here? Did I miss anything?’ Oh, _no_ , ’Ponine, it was just one of the most important days of our lives. But it’s no big deal or anything.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , ’Jolras, are you always this dramatic this early in the morning? You should ditch law school, go into the performing arts.” Éponine affectionately pokes him in the chest, handing the McDonald’s bag and her coffee off to Grantaire and reaching up to put her arms around Enjolras’ neck.

Grantaire picks up a takeaway menu off the kitchen counter, calling out, “Do y’all want pizza?”

“Pizza!” Immediately, Éponine detaches herself from Enjolras and is by Grantaire’s side in what feels like the blink of an eye, at least to Enjolras.

“Get them to put pineapple on a couple of the pizzas,” Combeferre calls out from his spot on the couch.

Courfeyrac’s draped all over Combeferre’s lap, and he makes a face. “That’s disgusting,” he says. “You’re disgusting. I don’t know why I’m dating you. If you were any other person, liking pineapple on pizza constitutes an immediate breakup.”

Combeferre gives Courfeyrac a wry, lopsided smile. “I feel so honoured.”

Courfeyrac flicks him in the forehead. “You’re lucky you’re cute. And decent in bed, I guess.”

Éponine gags, turning around to glare at them both. “You two are fucking disgusting!” she calls out. “This is _my_ apartment with _my_ boyfriend, it’s our property so you’re not allowed to be gross here. Only ’Jolras and I are.”

“Oh, God, that better not mean what I think it means.” A look of revolt crosses Grantaire’s scrunched-up face as he takes his phone out of his pocket to order the pizzas, nose wrinkled and green eyes narrowed.

Cosette’s mouth falls open. If she wasn’t standing at the opposite side of the room, she would probably smack Grantaire. “Get your mind out of the gutter!”

Éponine howls with laughter, nearly doubling over from the force of her cackles, and Enjolras rolls his eyes, a corner of his mouth turning up in a crooked, fond little smile. He loves her so much.

Once Éponine regains her composure, she darts over to the boxes, inspecting the labels until she finds what she wants. “First order of business!” she cries out, grabbing three folded-up flags out of a box and going over to shove Combeferre and Courfeyrac off the couch, standing up on the cushions to unfold the flags and hang them up like tapestries, grinning in satisfaction once she hops off the couch and takes a few steps backwards to admire how it looks. “There you go, now it’s really our apartment.”

Enjolras looks at her, at the wall above the couch on which the flags are hung up, and then down at his feet, a goofy little grin on his face. Fuck, he loves her.

“You are the most extra person I have ever met, you know that?” Courfeyrac comments, eyeing the bisexual, demisexual, and pansexual flags hanging on the wall.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Éponine is quick to shoot back. “You’ve got pan pride flags all over your own place, you don’t get to speak.”

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes, going over to hop up onto the kitchen counter and dictate his order to Grantaire. Éponine turns back to Enjolras, smiling at him as she walks up to him and places her arms around his waist, pulling him flush against her.

“I’m terrified,” she informs him bluntly as she gazes up into his eyes.

“I’d be a little worried if you weren’t,” Enjolras replies, arms moving to hang from around her slim waist.

“I mean—we’re _adults_ now. We’ve got our own place, and we have to buy our own groceries and we have our own _bathroom_ —I mean, our own fucking bathroom!—and we have to pay the bills on time and be nice to the neighbours.” Éponine makes a face of disgust at the idea, nose wrinkling in that manner Enjolras finds oh so adorable, and he chuckles softly and brushes some of her hair aside to kiss her forehead, resisting a snort.

They both know there’s no way in hell Éponine’s going to be nice to the neighbours.

“We’ll make it work,” Enjolras assures her, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes. “We can be adults.”

When Éponine bites her lip and gives him an exaggeratedly sceptical look through widened brown eyes, he amends, “At least, I can. I don’t know about you.”

Éponine snorts. “It’s nice to know you have so much faith in me, babe.”

“Éponine, I found a half-eaten Snickers in your laundry basket the other day. I can’t say much about you.”

“Oh, so that’s where it went! I knew it must’ve gone somewhere.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes once again and smiles, almost too affectionate.

After a while, she asks a little hesitantly, “So were you being serious? About. You know. The wedding thing.”

Enjolras’ cheeks burn. He feigns nonchalance nonetheless. “Yes, I was. No offence, but you’re going to be a catastrophe at your wedding.”

“No, I meant—you said _our_ wedding.” Éponine’s cheeks are coloured with a rosy blush, spots of pink blooming against her olive skin. “That would mean you’re there. Which would mean you’re the groom. Which would mean you’d be marrying me. Were—were you serious?”

Enjolras pauses to let himself think, and Éponine holds her breath until he opens his mouth again to speak. “Yes. Yes, I guess I was being serious. I don’t think I can picture myself spending the rest of my life with anyone but you, so. Yes.”

“You do realise that doesn’t sound very reassuring, right?” Even still, Éponine reaches up to run her fingers tenderly through his golden curls, a coy little grin on her face. “That’s _nasty_. You love me so much.”

“I tell you that all the time, ’Ponine,” Enjolras reminds her, a little exasperation lacing his tone. “I love you. You know this.”

“Yeah, but, like—you’re _crazy_ about me. You probably can’t live without me. I’m the moon to your sun, after all,” Éponine quips, the grin on her face growing wider. “I just—I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that. I love you too, snookums.” She giggles at the face Enjolras makes at the pet name, going on, “But you’re going to have to come up with a better proposal than that.”

Enjolras’ cheeks flame scarlet, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from stuttering as he says, “That wasn’t me proposing.”

“Yeah, I sure hope it wasn’t.” Éponine reaches up to boop his nose, mischief prevalent in her dimpled grin. “I expect a marching band and strippers and Courfeyrac jumping out of a cake—”

“I’m just going to let you know right now that’s not going to happen,” Enjolras cuts her off, grimacing at the mere idea of it.

Éponine chortles. “Yeah, now that I think of it, I probably wouldn’t like that very much anyway. All I want is for you to be there.”

Enjolras smiles at her, fondness written all over his face, and he leans down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

Of all the things Éponine didn't expect to be waking up to on a bright summer morning, it’s the sound of incessant knocking on the door.

“Rise and shine! It’s Cosette! Let’s get some food into our systems! Wake up!”

The alarm clock on the nightstand reads _7:23am_ in harsh, blinking red digits, and Éponine turns over and lifts up Enjolras’ arm to curl into him and bury her face in his chest, groaning loud and long as she wraps the blankets tighter around herself and burrows closer to Enjolras. He’s warm, all hard muscle and soft skin and sweet-smelling Lush soap, and he’s _warm_. “’Jolras, make the mean loud lady go away.”

“Cosette, go away,” Enjolras mumbles as loud as he can. Which isn’t very loud. Cosette probably can’t hear him.

On the other side of the door, Cosette remains unfazed. “Well, looks like I’m going to have to come in! Thanks for the key, Gabriel, I hope you two are decent!”

Éponine lifts her head up to glare at Enjolras, so viciously he flinches. “I can’t believe you gave her a key to our place already.”

“She’s my sister, ’Ponine,” Enjolras musters up the energy to mumble in response. “And your future sister-in-law. Though I’m considering revoking that privilege.”

Éponine scrunches up her face, and it’s one of the most adorable things Enjolras has ever seen. “Yeah, that’d probably be for the best. You know, to keep me from losing my shit and going on a rampage.”

Cosette bursts into the bedroom, wasting no time in skipping over to draw back the curtains and let light stream into the room in all its glory, and Éponine hisses as she’s blinded by sunlight, pulling the blankets over her head and curling into Enjolras even more. Enjolras blinks, disoriented by the sudden light, as his vision swims before him before he regains focus on his sister.

“Why are you here so early?” he asks her, pulling a slight face.

“Can’t I hang out with my brother and his wonderful girlfriend every once in a while?” Cosette reasons in response, an angelic smile on her face.

“This early in the morning?” Éponine complains from under the sheets, her voice muted by the fabric.

“I don’t have all day,” Cosette replies. “I’ve got plans with Maman later today, and then Marius and I are going to the aquarium together. Come on, honey, let’s get you some coffee.”

Éponine moans in protest as Cosette yanks the blanket off of her and Enjolras, curling up into a little ball before Cosette goes over and attempts to shake her awake. “I don’t wanna,” Éponine whines.

Cosette clicks her tongue, sliding off the bed. “Well, if you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen. Feel free to join me anytime.”

When Cosette exits the room, Éponine pulls the blankets back up over herself, groaning her displeasure. “Do I have to? I don’t wanna move, it’s too early in the morning for that.”

Enjolras sighs and kisses her forehead before sitting up. “She’s never going to leave until we do. Come on, I’ll make you breakfast. I’ll even make you your coffee.”

Éponine opens one eye. “Are you _sure_  you know how I like my coffee?”

Enjolras nods surely. “We’ve been together for three years, I’m certain I know by now how you like it. And if I don’t, then feel free to break up with me.”

“Don’t say things like that, you don’t want to tempt fate, now, do you?” Éponine sits up in bed as well and leans in for a kiss, pulling back after a split second and frowning. “Your breath stinks.”

“So does yours,” Enjolras retorts.

“I’m not kissing you again until you brush your goddamn teeth,” Éponine informs him as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed and finally gets to her feet.

“Same goes to you too, my dear mademoiselle,” Enjolras deadpans, sliding off the bed and going over to the closet to get some clothes to put on.

Once they’ve finally rid themselves of their morning breath, they both go into the kitchen to find Cosette making them pancakes, and Éponine hops up onto the counter to watch them as Enjolras goes over and gives Cosette a peck on the cheek in greeting before going over to boil water for coffee. Éponine swings her legs, watching Cosette flip the pancakes with great interest and smiling.

“You know, in another universe, we would have made a hot-ass couple,” Éponine comments when Cosette walks over to hand her a short stack of pancakes topped with blueberries and maple syrup on one of the plates she and Enjolras got from IKEA when they had gone shopping for furniture together.

Cosette laughs, nodding. “Agreed.”

“I’m right here,” Enjolras calls out, rolling his eyes, albeit good-naturedly, as he brings Éponine her cup of coffee.

Éponine smiles sweetly at him as she takes it. “I guess I settled for sibling.”

“Hey!” Enjolras’ eyebrows crease incredulously at Éponine’s words.

Éponine cackles and reaches out to ruffle his hair. “ _Relax_ , ’Jolras, I was joking. I want to be with you. Nobody but you.” She takes a sip of the coffee he’s made for her, and Enjolras holds his breath while she rates its quality in her mind. At last, she places the mug beside her and pulls him in for a kiss, proclaiming gleefully, “You passed the test!”

Enjolras chuckles in relief and readily kisses her back. “Oh, thank God. I really don’t want to break up with you, I don’t think I could handle that.”

“Good thing I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, then,” Éponine murmurs, kissing the tip of his nose as her arms dangle loosely around his neck.

Cosette coos at the sight, leading them to jump apart. They’ve forgotten she’s there with them.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she says when they look at her with reddened cheeks.

Éponine laughs, a nervous-sounding little thing, as Enjolras goes back to what he had been previously doing, going to fry bacon on the stove. Éponine continues swinging her legs, gulping down her coffee before she devours her pancakes.

“I really like what you two are doing with the place!” Cosette remarks breezily as she makes herself a cup of tea, looking around at their surroundings. “You’ve decorated it so nicely. The pride flags in the living room are a great touch. Where did you get yours? I want one to hang up in my own living room.”

“Bought ’em online,” Éponine replies through a mouthful of pancake. “I can order one for you, if you want. You want a pan flag, right?”

“That’s the one!” Cosette snaps her fingers and nods in confirmation, taking another sip of her tea. “Could you, really? You don’t have to, I can do it myself.”

“Oh, no, it’s no trouble,” Éponine assures her. “I figured I might as well make up for being a little tipsy during your wedding. And maybe a little stoned.”

“Oh, forget that, that was a year ago.” Cosette makes a gesture as if she’s brushing it off, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s let bygones be bygones.”

“Well, I’m still getting you that flag,” Éponine says. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Fair enough.”

Cosette walks over to stand by Enjolras, bumping his thigh with her hip and smiling a little too innocently for his liking up at him. “Speaking of weddings…”

“Slow down there, blondie, we’re not even engaged yet,” Éponine laughs, finishing the last of her pancakes and stuffing a blueberry in her mouth. “Not officially.”

“So you’ve discussed it, then?” Cosette asks, pulling out one of the tall stools they’ve bought for the counter and climbing on top of it. “What do you mean by ‘not officially’?”

“Yes, we’ve discussed it,” Enjolras confirms. “But nothing’s official yet. No rings or anything.”

“Well, the clock’s ticking! Maman’s not getting any younger,” Cosette quips, spinning around on the stool and giggling to herself.

“She’s only forty, Cosette,” Enjolras reminds his sister, rolling his eyes and shaking his head fondly. “That’s not old.”

“When you’re my age, it feels that way,” Cosette says, turning up her nose and feigning haughtiness.

Éponine snorts. “You’re only two years younger than us.”

“Still.”

It’s silent for another while save the sizzling of the frying bacon, and once Enjolras has divided up the strips of bacon between the three of them, Cosette speaks up again. “You know, Marius and I are trying for a baby,” she tells them.

Éponine’s brow furrows. “Already? You’re only twenty-one, didn’t he just turn twenty-three?”

“So? Maman had Gabriel when she was seventeen, and me when she was nineteen,” Cosette points out.

“That’s because we were accidents,” Enjolras reminds her wryly. “At least, I was. And just look at how well things turned out with her and… _him_.”

Enjolras hardly remembers ever referring to his biological father as Papa before he abandoned them, like the douchebag he is. He doubts Cosette does at all. When he was old enough, he legally changed his surname to his mother’s maiden name while Cosette’s taken their stepfather’s surname, hyphenating it with Marius’ when they married. He tries not to think about his and Cosette’s biological father if he can help it.

Cosette falls silent at the mere mention of their father, biting her lip. Almost as quickly, she bounces right back, saying, “Well, Marius and I are planning on having at least one kid at some point! Why not start trying now?”

“What would you name them?” Éponine questions, stuffing a whole strip of bacon into her mouth.

“Austen Marc Campbell for a boy and Isabelle Lorraine Gabrielle for a girl,” Cosette replies instantly, pausing for a bit before adding, “Pontmercy-Fauchelevent.”

“Aww, that’s cute, you’d name your daughter after my darling boyfriend?” Éponine turns her head to give Enjolras a shit-eating grin, guffawing at how his cheeks have flushed scarlet.

Cosette tilts her head and beams. “What can I say? I love my big brother.”

“I very distinctly remember you threatening to throw my things out a window if I didn’t come along with you around the city after Maman told you that you could only go if I accompanied you when you were fourteen,” Enjolras sardonically recalls out loud, taking a bite out of some bacon.

Cosette brushes it off, letting out a little dismissive noise from the back of her throat. “Oh, that was one time.”

“I’ve got a few ideas for baby names myself,” Éponine directs the conversation back to what it had initially been, drawing attention back to herself.

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “Let’s hear them.”

“Wait, really?”

He shrugs. “Why not? So I can veto anything I’m absolutely not naming our children while I still can.”

Éponine presses her fingers to her temple, making it look as if she’s deep in thought, before she declares, “Maximilien or Gabriel Jr. for a boy and Roxanne Marie Antoinette for a girl.”

“First one, maybe. Gabriel Jr., absolutely not. I’m not even going to talk about that last one.” Enjolras rolls his eyes and takes another strip of bacon, wiping off the grease on a napkin once he’s stuffed it into his mouth. “’Ponine, why do you hate our unborn children?”

“I like them!” Cosette chirps, placing some of the empty dishes in the sink. “Well, maybe not the Marie Antoinette part, but the rest, yeah!”

“ _Thank you_ , Cosette. See, at least one person here appreciates my creative genius.” She shoots Enjolras a faux-accusing glare, narrowing her eyes at him.

Enjolras sighs and shakes his head, lips twitching as he tries to hide a smile. “Éponine, do explain to me how Gabriel Jr. is in any way creative.”

“Shush, don’t question the professional here.” Éponine waggles a finger in his direction. “Also, bring on the food! What’s holding you back? I’m hungry. Besides, I’m eating for two here.”

“’Ponine, you’re not even pregnant,” Enjolras counters, sighing in one part exasperation and two parts amusement as he turns the stove back on to make her a grilled cheese sandwich.

Éponine scrunches up her nose at him. “Are you _one hundred percent_ sure?”

“Yes. Kind of. I mean, I hope.” All the blood drains from his face and he goes white. “’Ponine, please don’t tell me you’re pregnant. You accidentally killed your guinea pig years ago after you forgot to feed it for five days.”

Éponine juts out her bottom lip and exaggerates a solemn salute. “Rest in peace, Mr. Turtle.”

“Your guinea pig’s name was _Mr. Turtle_?” At that, Cosette bursts into a fit of giggles, bringing her hand up to her mouth to cover it as her laughter fills the room. Enjolras sighs.

“Aw, you don’t think I’d be a good mom, Enjolras?” Éponine feigns hurt, pressing a hand to her heart and looking down morosely at her swinging legs.

Enjolras turns the stove off and walks over to her. “I think you would be a great mother,” he tells her quietly.

Éponine’s entire face lights up, dark eyes sparkling as a dimpled smile graces her face, dazzling and hopeful. Enjolras would do anything to keep that smile there. “You really think so?”

“Of course,” Enjolras responds. “As long as they don’t inherit your cleaning habits. Or, more accurately, your lack thereof.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Éponine lightly shoves him before pulling him in for a kiss, swallowing the quiet laugh that escapes his mouth, and they remain like that for a little while until they remember that Cosette’s right there.

They break apart, and as they all hang out around the kitchen counter as they eat breakfast, Cosette recounts her plans with Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet for after going to visit Fantine and going on an aquarium date with Marius. Éponine tells her that maybe they can all hang out that night at her and Enjolras’ for a few rounds of Cards Against Humanity; they can order some Italian food, maybe get a little too drunk off vodka.

As Enjolras leans against the counter, listening in on his girlfriend and sister animatedly discussing their intentions for the day, he thinks that yeah, he could get used to this.

* * *

Enjolras laces his fingers through Éponine’s, hands clasped and arms swinging as they wander through the aisles of the supermarket, a shopping basket dangling from his other hand. They’ve just recently run out of bathroom appliances, resulting in an impromptu trip to the supermarket to get some more, and Enjolras’ eyes skim the shelves of shampoo bottles and liquid soap as he and Éponine make their way to the toothbrushes. Upon catching sight of a specific shampoo on the shelf, he stops in his tracks and taps Éponine’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Impatience lingers in her tone as Enjolras points up.

“It’s you,” he replies, a teasing little smile on his face. Éponine promptly elbows him in the side upon seeing the shampoo bottle labelled ‘Moroccan Rose’.

“God, you’re a fucking sap,” she mutters, though her cheeks flush pink anyway. “And you white people are weird.” Never mind that she’s white-passing herself.

Enjolras spins her around before reeling her in, pressing a kiss to her forehead and murmuring, “My rose.”

Éponine tries not to appear so flustered as she lets go of his hand to bring her arms up around his neck, leaning in and nuzzling her nose against his. “Yeah. Your Moroccan rose. I get it. You’re embarrassing.”

It’s now mid-autumn, a few months after they moved in together, and though they’ve had their squabbles here and there—it comes with living under the same roof, it’s inevitable—Éponine feels as if this is the happiest she’s ever been. She never imagined she’d get to be domestic like this with someone, let alone being domestic like this with Enjolras, out of all people. She’s still trying to get it into her head that this is what she deserves. She deserves to hope and be loved and be happy like this.

When they’re standing in the checkout line, having acquired toothbrushes and a few tubes of toothpaste and dental floss that Éponine’s definitely not going to use since the only times she ever flosses are on her occasional trips to the dentist, Enjolras’ phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out to find a text from Cosette.

**mon rayon de soleil [yellow heart emoji]: Let’s grab lunch together tomorrow at the two windmills, maman and papa are going to be there!! Two o’clock, don’t be late xoxo**

“What is it?” Éponine asks as she nudges Enjolras to make him move up a spot in the line; he’s still staring at his phone screen.

He lowers the phone so Éponine can read Cosette’s text, and upon skimming it, she scrunches up her face. “What could she possibly want?”

“I’m not sure,” Enjolras admits. “I don’t think she’s giving me a choice in the matter. We should just show up, it might be something big.”

Once they’ve paid for their things and are on their way out and back onto the pavement, strolling the few blocks back to their apartment, Éponine muses out loud, “D’you think it’s got something to do with that baby she mentioned she and Marius are trying for?”

Enjolras stops, freezing up. “Are you—what are you saying?”

“She did mention a few weeks ago how they’re trying for a baby,” Éponine reminds him, looping her arm through his and pulling him along so they won’t be in other pedestrians’ ways. “Maybe they’ve succeeded and they’re going to break the news to us tomorrow. You might be becoming an uncle.”

Enjolras falls silent as he mulls it over, needing time to process it completely, and he doesn’t speak again until they get home, until they’ve put their purchases in the bathroom where they belong and are now sitting on the couch in the living room, Éponine aimlessly scanning the TV shows and movies available on Netflix.

“I don’t think we should jump to conclusions just yet,” Enjolras mumbles nearly inaudibly as Éponine finally decides on _Moulin Rouge!_.

She snorts. “I think you’re just in denial about the possibility of being an uncle.”

Enjolras sighs and buries his face in her hair when she rests her head on his shoulder, the two of them curling up on the couch together, a bowl of buttery popcorn in Éponine’s lap. Enjolras lets out a long sigh before he rests his head against Éponine’s, stroking her hair. “Like I said. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

Éponine turns to kiss his cheek, lips curving into a smile against his skin. “Well, we’ll see who gets the last laugh.”

As it turns out, she does.

They’re sitting in a booth in the Café des 2 Moulins with Marius and Cosette the following day, waiting for Fantine and Monsieur Fauchelevent to show up, and Éponine’s fidgeting in her seat, doing her best to smooth out and pull down the skirt she’s made the mistake of wearing for their lunch date, and she forces herself to stop as soon as Enjolras and Cosette’s parents turn up, taking seats at the edge of the table.

“So what brings us here today?” Fantine asks brightly, smiling around at them. Her golden hair shines in the sunlight pouring in through the windows, not a grey hair to be seen. Éponine supposes that’s how one ages when one stays in their own lane. She makes a mental note to try it out.

Cosette lets out an airy laugh, and Enjolras can detect a smidge of apprehension in her laugh. “Why don’t we order some lunch first?”

Once a waitress has come by and taken their orders, Monsieur Fauchelevent gently presses, “Cosette, you must have had a reason to call us all here. What is it?”

Cosette looks as if she’s going to explode from nerves and sheer excitement, responding only by pulling a little box out of her purse and handing it over to her mother and stepfather as Marius urges eagerly, “Open it!”

Éponine gives Enjolras a knowing look, subtle as can be, as Fantine opens the box to find a little pacifier in it. She chuckles, turning it over in her hands and remarking softly, “You used to suck on these when you were a baby.”

“Maman, you might want to read it,” Cosette tells her, biting her lip anxiously.

That’s when Fantine notices the little tag dangling from the pacifier, and she and Monsieur Fauchelevent read it only to fall silent. Enjolras can see his mother’s blue eyes growing glassy when she looks up. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Cosette confirms, looking as if she’s on the verge of crying herself. When Monsieur Fauchelevent gives her a teary-eyed smile, she elaborates, “I’m nine weeks along.”

It takes all Éponine can do not to let out a triumphant squawk as she nudges Enjolras, whispering to him, “I told you! I was right!”

Tearful words are exchanged as Éponine and Enjolras sit there, bearing witness to it all, the tears and the laughter and the congratulations, and he turns to smile down at Éponine. “Looks like you were.”

* * *

Snow is falling outside, lazily drifting down and blanketing the city in a thin sheet of pure white, frost tracing intricate patterns into the icy windows, as Enjolras brings Éponine a mug of hot chocolate, carrying his own in his other hand, before he takes a seat beside her on the couch, kissing the top of her head and taking whatever’s left of the knit blanket for himself as he sips his hot chocolate.

It’s New Year’s Eve, almost five months after they first moved in together, and they’ve decided to forego going out to the Eiffel Tower to celebrate the coming of the new year in favour of staying in together and getting drunk off champagne as Éponine skims through various New Year’s programmes on TV. Their first New Year’s while living together.

An unopened bottle of the most expensive champagne Enjolras has ever bought is sitting on the coffee table in front of them, waiting to be poured into the empty champagne glasses sitting by it, and Éponine gulps down her hot chocolate, chewing happily on the marshmallows and curling into Enjolras. “Mmf, this is great,” she mumbles, voice thick from the marshmallows in her mouth. “I love you.”

Enjolras laughs softly and kisses the top of her head once again. “I love you, too.”

After a while, Éponine gives up on the New Year’s programmes airing on television, reverting to Netflix and picking out _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ , choosing the season five finale. As the episode progresses, she speaks up again.

“So we’ve been living together for five months,” she murmurs. “And we haven’t burned the place down yet. I’d call that a success.”

“Indeed it is,” Enjolras agrees under his breath, hugging her closer to him.

“A lot’s changed, hasn’t it?” Éponine remarks. “I mean—Cosette’s fucking _pregnant_. You’re going to be an _uncle_ in, what, six months?”

“About six months, yeah,” Enjolras confirms. “It’s crazy.”

“I _know_.” Éponine reaches across to place her empty mug back on the coffee table before settling back in, curling into her boyfriend and sighing contentedly. Her eyes are trained on the TV and she lets out a wistful little sigh as she watches Jake and Amy getting married.

“You know,” she mumbles to Enjolras, lifting her head up to gaze into his eyes, “for our wedding, I’d get there on time. I’d be there early, actually. I might even be in a dress. Maybe some makeup if I’m really feeling it. Point is, I’d be there. Because I love you, and I want to marry you.”

A corner of Enjolras’ mouth turns up in a crooked smile as his cheeks grow warm, and the sight of the spots of rosy pink blooming in his cheeks makes something warm explode in her chest. It’s been that way since she first met him. Enjolras breaks eye contact for a little bit to look down at his half-empty mug of hot chocolate, rendered speechless from how flustered he is, before his blue-eyed gaze finds Éponine’s once again. She could get lost forever in those ocean eyes.

“Thank you for the heads up,” Enjolras murmurs, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

Éponine smiles, before clarifying, “That wasn’t me proposing, if you’re getting any ideas. You’ll know for sure when it happens.”

Enjolras gives her a little smirk. “Not if I get to it first.”

Éponine raises her eyebrows. She’s always been one to be up for a challenge. “Bet you fifty euro and a kiss that I’ll be the first to propose.”

Enjolras doesn’t hesitate to shake the hand she extends to him, sealing the deal. “You’re on.”

She laughs as if she knows something he doesn’t and settles her head on his shoulder once again, snuggling back into him and pulling the blanket over themselves, careful not to hog it as much as she tends to do. A few hours pass and it’s nearing midnight by the time they’ve finished the fifth episode in their _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ binge, done completely out of order. Enjolras sits up to open the champagne bottle and pour some into the two champagne glasses on the coffee table, handing one to Éponine, and they switch back to cable temporarily to watch the countdown.

_“Ten!”_

Éponine takes a sip of her champagne and lets out a contented sigh.

_“Nine!”_

Enjolras turns his head to kiss the top of Éponine’s head.

_“Eight!”_

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Éponine murmurs, taking another sip of champagne.

_“Seven!”_

“I can’t imagine spending New Year’s with anyone else,” Enjolras confides in response, stroking her hair.

_“Six!”_

Their phones start buzzing on the coffee table, exploding with countless New Year’s Instagram stories from their friends, but they pay them no heed, eyes fixed on the TV.

_“Five!”_

“To us?” Éponine raises her champagne glass.

_“Four!”_

Enjolras nods, clinking his own glass against hers. “To us.”

_“Three!”_

“I love you.”

_“Two!”_

“I love you, too.”

_“One!”_

Éponine places her champagne glass on the coffee table as Enjolras does the same before she pulls him into a kiss, sighing into his mouth; his lips are warm, everything about him is so warm, and she wants to stay like this forever, wrapped up in his arms and kissing him as the world around them falls away and she basks in the warmth of his embrace.

_“Happy New Year!”_

Éponine giggles into the kiss when Enjolras’ lips curve into a smile against hers, and they break apart, her face mere inches from his. “Happy New Year, ’Jolras,” she murmurs.

Enjolras smiles back at her, and that smile is more than enough to rival the sun itself. “Happy New Year, ’Ponine.”

* * *

One bright springtime day, Éponine falls ill, and she’s absolutely terrible at being a functional person when sick. It almost feels as if the chirping birds and blooming flowers are mocking her. Enjolras almost considers calling Cosette and telling her that he can’t make it to her place to help her redecorate, he’s so worried about Éponine.

“Just _go_ ,” Éponine tells him, voice scratchy, and she moans and grumbles as she rolls over onto her back. Enjolras presses a hand to her forehead, cursing under his breath when he realises she’s running a fever. “I’ll be fine. It—it’s your day off this week, go see Cosette.”

“’Ponine, you’re burning up,” Enjolras tells her, biting his lip uneasily as he attempts to pull the blankets over Éponine, only for her to kick them off.

“No, it’s too hot,” she whines, but she’s trembling, breaking out in a cold sweat as she shivers uncontrollably. “Too hot.”

Enjolras runs into the bathroom to grab some Panadol out of the medicine cabinet before he fetches her a glass of water from the kitchen, running back into the bedroom to place them on the nightstand. “I called in sick for you,” he whispers to her, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, her olive skin dotted with beads of sweat. “Just stay here and get some rest. I’ll make you some tea when I get home, how does that sound?”

It takes all that’s left of Éponine’s strength to nod an affirmation. Enjolras hesitates by the door, and she croaks out, “Just _go_ , Enjolras. ’M fine. ’M dying a little, yeah, but ’m fine. ’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be back soon, I promise,” Enjolras says anyway. “I’ll be gone for three hours at most. I’ll see if Cosette and I can get things done faster.” Of all the days for his heavily pregnant sister’s nesting urges to kick in, why does it have to be today? He gives Éponine a look, telling her firmly, “ _Call me_ if you need anything, all right?”

“ _Christ_ , okay.”

Cosette questions him a little bit when he shows up without Éponine, and he barely has time to respond before she calls him, the first of many. As he helps Cosette in doing all the heavy-lifting around the nursery she and Marius have converted their guest room into, Éponine calls him eleven times to tell him that she’s begun writing out her will and is leaving everything to him, her siblings, and Grantaire if she dies. She takes to texting when Enjolras finally bans her from calling him unless it’s an emergency.

**[rose emoji] l’amour de ma vie [red heart emoji]: why isn’t pokemon on my shelf**

**[rose emoji] l’amour de ma vie [red heart emoji]: did you hide it from me**

**[rose emoji] l’amour de ma vie [red heart emoji]: ENJOLRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS**

**[rose emoji] l’amour de ma vie [red heart emoji]: STOP LEAVING ME ON READ JACKASS**

Enjolras sighs and shakes his head, figuring that he might as well text her back while Cosette’s preoccupied with arranging and rearranging the framed pictures on the baby’s dresser. **You never really cared before whether or not you get left on read, why make a fuss about it now?**

**[rose emoji] l’amour de ma vie [red heart emoji]: you’re funny. where’s my pokemon movie dvd did you hide it from me again**

Enjolras types, **Yes. You won’t be able to find it, since that would mean you actually have to move. Also, go back to bed.**

**[rose emoji] l’amour de ma vie [red heart emoji]: asshole.**

**[rose emoji] l’amour de ma vie [red heart emoji]: okay fine at least you had the courtesy to leave my anne hathaway movie collection alone**

**[rose emoji] l’amour de ma vie [red heart emoji]: there’s that**

**[rose emoji] l’amour de ma vie [red heart emoji]: wtf am i supposed to do now**

**[rose emoji] l’amour de ma vie [red heart emoji]: you know what i’ll just call r and tell him to come over and get him sick so i’ll have company**

Enjolras chuckles to himself and shakes his head. **You go do that. I love you. Please don’t do anything stupid.**

**[rose emoji] l’amour de ma vie [red heart emoji]: when have i ever done that? [smirk emoji]**

Sure enough, when Enjolras gets home around noon armed with chicken noodle soup, chamomile tea, and a whole bag full of Milky Way bars, Grantaire is sitting in his desk chair, grinning rather devilishly when he sees Enjolras enter the room, and _The Devil Wears Prada_ is playing on the TV mounted on the wall.

“Jesus Christ, ’Ponine, I thought you were kidding.” Enjolras sighs something long-suffering as he places the chicken noodle soup and tea on the bed.

“Good to see you too, Enj!” Grantaire calls out faux-cheerfully, rolling his eyes as Éponine emerges from underneath the sheets. Her hair is up in what appears to be a pathetic attempt at a messy bun, dark eyes bloodshot, and her cheeks and nose are flushed pink. She looks like a complete mess. Enjolras wants to marry her.

“I told him I was on my deathbed,” she mumbles, lethargically reaching out to grab the tea from Enjolras. “To convince him to come over.”

“I can’t believe I cancelled a date with Jehan for this,” Grantaire grumbles offhandedly. “It’s a wonder he’s still dating me at all.”

Éponine musters up just enough energy to flip him off. “Buddy, you brought this onto yourself, you love me too much to leave me alone when I’m fucking dying. If you get sick, it’s your own fault.”

Enjolras sits down at the edge of the bed, placing a hand against Éponine’s forehead. “How are you feeling? Any better?”

Éponine sniffs. “Not really. _Pokémon_ certainly would have made it a lot better.”

“At least you have your Anne Hathaway movie collection, right?” Enjolras reminds her, gesturing the TV.

“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” Éponine whines.

Enjolras shakes his head and kisses the top of her head. “Stay here, I’ll make you some more food.”

“I’m not accepting it unless you come back in here with _Pokémon_!” Éponine yells out as Enjolras is exiting the room.

When he comes back into the bedroom with a plate of lasagne, Éponine’s fast asleep, curled into herself and her hand limp in Grantaire’s, who’s fallen asleep next to her. Enjolras can’t help but smile at the sight, making a mental note to go out and finally purchase the ring he’s had on hold for a while now.

* * *

Éponine ends up proposing first.

They’re up on the roof of their apartment building, just slightly buzzed on wine they drank earlier, and it’s a gorgeous summer afternoon, just a day after Cosette came home from the hospital after giving birth to little Isabelle Lorraine Gabrielle Pontmercy-Fauchelevent on a bright summer morning—Éponine hadn’t thought Cosette and Marius would actually follow through with naming their child that, but she supposes she should have known better—and Enjolras is still reeling from the fact that he has a little niece now, a freckle-faced, blue-eyed, auburn-haired little niece partially named after him.

He’s planning on finally proposing to Éponine in two days, planning on taking her to the Eiffel Tower for a picnic and getting down on one knee right there on the lawn before the tower. He’d convinced Feuilly to be there to film the whole thing, just for posterity, though Jehan had attempted to convince Enjolras to go with something bigger. Enjolras doesn’t think it could possibly get bigger than an Eiffel Tower proposal.

They’re gazing out at the city, the heavens streaked with reds and oranges and pinks, tinges of blue and purple dotting the sky here and there, the sun beginning its descent. Éponine’s convinced him to come up there to watch the sunset together, and he can see the Eiffel Tower and Notre-Dame in the distance, and further than that, Sacre-Coeur. It’s a magnificent sight, rivalled only by Éponine herself. Enjolras has long since given up on trying to be subtle about gazing at her like she hung the moon and stars, looking at her in that exact way right now as she fidgets about slightly.

“You okay?” he asks, noticing how Éponine’s been silent for a while now.

Éponine cracks a little smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Never been better.”

Enjolras takes her hand, but he doesn’t press further. He only says, “Hey, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

Éponine nods. “Yeah, I know.”

She’s nervous, even more nervous than she’s ever been in her entire life, though she supposes that’s how most people would feel when proposing to their partner of nearly four years, and for real this time. She’s long since outgrown her teenage cynicism that came about as a result of bearing witness to the destruction of her parents’ marriage, past what used to be a firm belief in the fact that she’ll never find anyone she can really, truly let her walls down around, but it’s still frightening. There’s still a tiny part of her, such a small part of her, that sometimes thinks that maybe she doesn’t deserve this, that something will inevitably go wrong and she’ll fuck up like she always does once they’re married. She doesn’t want to be a three-time divorcée. She _wants_ to marry Enjolras. She wants to make this work.

“Hey, ’Jolras?” He turns to look at her, eyebrows raised slightly, expectant.

“What is it, ’Ponine?” he asks, and his voice is so soft and tender. Éponine feels like kissing the breath out of him.

Instinctively, her hand drifts down to the left pocket of her sweatpants, and Enjolras’ gaze slowly follows her hand’s movement. He’s boring holes into her pocket with his gaze as she takes a deep breath.

_You can do this._

“So I love you a lot,” she starts, managing to keep herself from stuttering the words out, she’s so fucking nervous. “Like, a _lot_. I think I love you a little too much. Is it possible to love someone too much?” She lets out a jittery little laugh, going on, “I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, and it’s fucking terrifying, don’t get me wrong, but you… you make it okay. You’re one of my best friends in the entire universe, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Enjolras forces himself to tear his gaze away from her pocket to look back up into her eyes, choking on his words. “Éponine—”

“No, let me finish!” she interjects, slipping her hand into her pocket. “I realised a long time ago that I don’t give a shit if we live here for the rest of our lives, or if we find a new place, or if we end up living in a box. I wouldn’t care. Anywhere with you feels like home to me.”

She takes out a little PokéBall out of her pocket, laughing slightly. Really, she can be such a genius sometimes. “I choose you, Gabriel Enjolras.”

Enjolras’ blue eyes are shining, welling up with tears. Éponine makes a mental note to make fun of him for that later.

“So, I guess…” Éponine inhales sharply, the PokéBall enclosed in her fist. “Enjolras, will you marry—”

Before she can finish her sentence, Enjolras is pulling her in for a kiss, silencing her as his lips envelop hers. “Does it still count if you didn’t finish your sentence?” he asks breathlessly, voice cracking a little bit as he pulls away. “I was literally going to propose to you in two days, I had everything planned out. I was going to take you on a picnic to the Eiffel Tower for lunch, and when the time came, I was going to get down on one knee and propose and I had gotten Feuilly to film it, just for us.”

Éponine laughs out loud. “Hold up, you haven’t even seen what’s in the PokéBall yet!”

He’s half-expecting it to be a Ring Pop when she presses the little button to open the PokéBall, blue eyes widening in shock as a tiny gasp expels itself from his lungs at the sight of a platinum ring with a single diamond embedded into it, edges polished and central band brushed.

“Let me try again.” Enjolras returns his gaze to Éponine at the sound of her wry words. “Enjolras, will you marry me?”

Enjolras bites his lip and smiles, a single tear falling from his eyelashes. “It looks like I owe you fifty euro.”

Éponine grins; she feels like pumping her fist into the air in triumph, barely restraining herself from doing so. “I take it that’s a yes?”

“Yes,” Enjolras affirms. “A thousand times yes. Of course I want to marry you.” After a brief pause, he adds sheepishly, “Although I was half-expecting you to propose with a Ring Pop, I didn’t expect you to actually go out and buy me an engagement ring.”

Éponine feigns a wounded look, pressing a hand to her heart. “’Jolras, I’ve been saving up for the ring for a while now. Besides, I thought you already knew I’m always one for abolishing gender roles.”

Enjolras grins and nods. “Yes, I suppose I already did. Heteronormativity is over.”

The grin on Éponine’s face grows even wider, dimples carving themselves deeper into her cheeks, as she picks up Enjolras’ left hand and slips the ring onto his ring finger. He admires the way the remaining daylight catches in the diamond, murmuring, “I’m going to wear this forever.”

Éponine snorts and rolls her eyes, a little too fond. “You’re still taking me to the Eiffel Tower to propose, though.”

Enjolras chuckles softly. “I figured.”

Éponine tucks the PokéBall back into her pocket and sticks out a hand, an expectant look on her face. “Now pay up, schmuck.”

Enjolras lets out a husky laugh and shakes his head, pulling his wallet out of his pocket to pull out five ten-euro bills and hand it over to Éponine. “Here you go, my fiancée.”

Butterflies take flight in Éponine’s stomach at Enjolras’ words and she can’t help the goofy grin on her face as she pockets the money. She crawls over to sit in Enjolras’ lap, straddling him and wrapping her legs around his waist, and her arms dangle around his neck as he pulls her closer by wrapping his arms tight around her waist. She’s unable to keep the giddy smile off her face, Enjolras with a similar dopey grin on his own face as his blue eyes sparkle in the light of the sunset.

“Now, I believe,” Éponine murmurs, pausing to kiss the tip of Enjolras’ nose, “you owe me a kiss.”

**Author's Note:**

> **[enjolras' engagement ring.](https://content.beaverbrooks.co.uk/medias/0004957-0-Large?context=bWFzdGVyfGltYWdlc3wyODA3NDF8aW1hZ2UvanBlZ3xpbWFnZXMvODgzMTMyMTUzODU5MC5qcGd8LQ) **
> 
> lemme know what you think!! i always love interacting with those who read my stuff!
> 
> ~~ also, to clear up any confusion, i am very much pro pineapple on pizza, courfeyrac's just weird like that ~~
> 
> hmu on tumblr [@bisexual-eponine](https://bisexual-eponine.tumblr.com/)


End file.
